J'adore
by taxiphobia
Summary: Haruhi never felt this way before. When Tamaki left with Eclair for France, she expected relief, not jealousy, happiness, not depression. Following them, along with the Host Club, may not have been the smartest idea... [TamaHaru][R&R]


J'adore

_(Sequel to __Crush)_

-taxiphobia

Disclaimer: As always, Ouran High School Host Club isn't mine.

Notes: Sequel to oneshot Crush, it is suggested you read it if you haven't done so already (though not mandatory for understanding); Anime, not manga; Takes place after a time skip; Written abruptly at times; Multi-chaptered

* * *

Lavender lace. Tablecloth and drapes. Dried flowers. Roses, daises, and tulips. Quaint furniture. Rusty metal. Antique. All inside. Outside, sunshine. Mixing between curtain at intervals. Sights to see, places to go. Passerby's pause. Listen. Look through the windows. Inside, there is a piano. Notes rich with _legato_. A professional? No.

Lovely ladies laughing at his lightsome features. Liberal with them. Staring in admiration. His elegant smile. Melting gaze. Flaxen hair. Exquisitely handsome. Talented. Rumored, intelligent. The perfect man. The reincarnation of Apollo. What, a foreigner? A half-breed? That stunning entity?

Oh Éclair! _Miss_ Éclair! Where on this earth did you find him? Did he fall from heaven? Are you related? What is he to you? What is _he_?

It is innocent's turn. The dainty darling laughs. Piano plays. Switches to classic Mozart. _Piano Sonata No.15 in C Major_. Suddenly fast. Faster, faster, the youth plays swiftly. Mademoiselles sigh.

I can only hope, says she, I win his heart before the end.

They are confused. They look at one another.

They venture further.

"No relations, Miss?"

Relations? she repeats. Now who is confused?

"Family, friends."

The liar's turn. "All family, deceased. Friends, he has few, unimportant acquaintances, if any at all. Look at him; _he_ would never abandon his friends, if he had some. Why else would he be here?"

Lucky Éclair! Helpful Éclair! A perfect match, they dare say.

She stands. Takes him with her. A stop during the song's climax. Not gradual. Spell is broken. Bewildered. Parisian ladies give chase. A large throng now. Out the little apartment they go. Down the stairs. Past foliage. Out, out, out. Spectators are interested. More are curious. Still more follow.

Outside. No rain. Pairs of clouds. Nothing more.

Perfect Paris.

Incessant sunshine…

-

To be sure, Fujioka Haruhi had fallen farther than she had ever fallen for any—would she admit it?—man in her life. Ever. It may have been his flattery, and favoritism toward her, and perhaps the 'family' concept that added to the confusion. Yet it was plain and simple. She knew what she felt, the simplicity of it, the clarity, the ambiguity…Haruhi prefer it stay that way. Out of touch. Out of reach. Out of _her_ mind. To move forward or stay?, she wondered which hurt more.

A ribbon. Two ribbons. No, maybe three. Or just a long one. Yellow. A Suzumiya Haruhi cosplay? Was that the twins' intention? She wore a floral sundress, vivacious, aside from her expression, with silken ruffles, a straw hat, and designer shoes—all the twins' idea. France. Hikaru's idea. Paris, Kaoru's. The rest saw it as a form of cheering her up. No one objected. Not even she, too drained by his abrupt leave, objected. Haruhi followed, seeking truth, she wanted to know, she _had_ to know, whether it would hurt her or not, it wasn't for her to decide.

Say it was, and the absurd happening wouldn't have happened; No France, just the eternal Host Club, with Tamaki as president, or Tono, or King, or Lord, or whatever _they_ referred to him as, forever. But that Éclair, the conniving villain, stole him somehow, kidnapped him somehow, and took him to France…somehow. Haruhi wondered how the witch somehow convinced her—_their_ stubborn Tamaki.

Whatever. Not significant. Of minuscule importance. They would find him, return him, and live happily ever after in a spell never to be broken. Haruhi hoped, wished, and prayed. Why else go to the lengths of wearing what she rarely wore, notwithstanding whose idea it was? For high chances. To persuade.

That was the original plan.

She grew wary.

Why had Hunny-senpai disappeared, only to return with a lighter wallet, having wasted exchanged money on European confectionaries? And Mori-senpai followed? And Kyouya-senpai…he was no help. And Hikaru, why did he tease? And Kaoru, why did he comfort her?

"Ano…Kaoru, shouldn't we start looking for senpai?"

He looks down, sees street, looks up, a graying sky, looks at his brother who laughs away at the antics of a street mime and its similarities with the stoic Mori, but Kaoru never once brings his eyes to hers. He knows how she feels; he feels it too. Continually, ceaselessly, even to this day, surpassing that insecure instant.

Both are consumed in thoughts. Both cast away despondent—_they_ think this is the correct term, though _they_ know nothing—and seek the haven of the familiar, happy contemplations of yesterday. In that way, they are compatible. They agree, in that way only, on the idiocy of finding love, being in it, and it itself. In that way, Haruhi and Kaoru are cowards, refusing to move even an inch forward; they fear pain.

Haruhi was never persistent to begin with.

And neither was Kaoru.

There is one member of the Host Club with outmatched persistence, that member being—

"We came to rescue Tamaki, not dilly-dawdle around all of France," says Kyouya.

Hunny nods, agrees, and nibbles on the remainder of his cake, adorably as always.

"Paris is where we're headed," adds Kyouya, "It shouldn't be too long until we arrive."

Paris, eh? The city of romance is a perfect match for Tamaki, Haruhi imagines, and not for her. Well, he could go be his lousy, flirtatious, _king_ly self all he wanted there! Haruhi doesn't care, she won't. But her attitude forces her to go on, and she can only inwardly swear that when she sees him, which she prefers never to happen, but in the case that it does, he would have it. Oh, he'd have it. With these, that, and more inhumane thoughts, Haruhi walks towards a darkening sky, towards Paris, towards him, towards her possible end;

Bringing clouds of destruction,

Thunder and lighting, but the dense astraphobic hasn't noticed.

I'm sure Miss Éclair has.

* * *

Well, there you have it, the first chapter (and prelude, somewhat) of J'adore, sequel to Crush. Sorry for the lack of creativity (it means "I adore you," in French) on the title there, but I, unfortunately, know close to no French. I'm sure you're all (very?) confused with the narration—the fact that it is present tense, the lack of clarity—gosh, taxiphobia, you suck!—so I apologize for that as well.

And this chapter was so short. What's up with that?

One last thing I'd like to address before you (please?) review; updating will be very irregular since I have heavier (not literally, but in terms of plots) stories that I also have to update, unless of course I receive more reviews here than I do there.

**Thanks for reading;  
****Have a nice day! XD**


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